


time stopped then sped so fast

by crownedcarl



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: (I PROMISE IT MAKES SENSE IN CONTEXT), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fisting, Gen, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Object Insertion, Objectification, Pre-Slash, Psychological Trauma, READ THE TAGS PEOPLE I BEG, Rape Recovery, Sexual Violence, Troubles (Haven), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, suicide (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: Haven is going to realize, eventually, that there is some truth to that old adage:be careful what you wish for.
Relationships: Audrey Parker & Nathan Wuornos, Duke Crocker/Nathan Wuornos, Dwight Hendrickson & Nathan Wuornos
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	time stopped then sped so fast

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Blaqk Audio. This was a self-indulgent porny fic I dreamed up a while ago to explore Nathan's issues with his body and his trouble and how it might affect the way he looks at intimacy and sex. For what it's worth, the doc I wrote this in was titled "Nathan's magnificent breakdown" so that's a good indicator of what you're in for, reading this. To anyone who does proceed to read this: please leave me a comment because it would make my day and give me motivation to write more for this fandom. ❤
> 
> Check out my [other Haven fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl/works?fandom_id=9218791)!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://dickardgansey.tumblr.com)!

It starts, of all things, with a cat.

Catherine Jones wakes to find her dearly departed and beloved Maine coon Norris purring at her feet. Seeing as how she thought she buried him months ago, scant days after her husband's unexpected passing, Catherine is overjoyed to have Norris back and decides to spend the day indoors with warm fur beneath her fingers. She feels at home again.

Across town, Daniel Peterson discovers a brand new Bentley in the driveway that his parents swear up and down they didn't get for him, but the keys are in the ignition so he drives to school in style. Stan, at the police station, receives an unexpected promotion, and works himself into a giddy frenzy, gloating over lunch about how everything’s coming up Stan and Nathan is too wrapped up in his own head to wonder about it. He figures his dad had it in the works before Nathan’s time and moves on.

Dwight is in the process of grabbing his toolkit and tossing it in the trunk and is checking his phone for that day’s agenda of jobs, but he ends up blinking in confusion at the eerie lack of chaos. Nobody’s contacted him and his phone hasn't lit up with notifications yet. Dwight, without quite knowing why, decides to turn around, set his equipment down and head straight back home, for once not needed.

Haven is going to realize, eventually, that there is some truth to that old adage: _be careful what you wish for._

Duke is standing outside of the station with his car, all easy smiles and long, slender legs. He greets Nathan like he's been waiting, lazily dangling his keys for Nathan to see and asking "Day trip?" as if that's something the two of them do, but Nathan nods absently, holding on to a cup of lukewarm coffee, figuring that Audrey won't mind if he takes off for a few hours. Haven has been quiet all day, the news still contained, everyone enjoying their own private miracles.

Nathan gets in the car. He doesn't see the look Duke gives him while he puts on the seatbelt, but when he glances back at the station he thinks he sees a Duke-shaped figure walking down the street, Nathan forcefully shaking his head and telling himself that’s just crazy talk. It must be his imagination, he thinks, watching as the figure grows smaller and smaller as Duke drives. 

Duke drives for an hour and a half before he’s turning off the highway and into the woods towards a cabin that Nathan can't recall seeing on the maps. It might've been an old hiding place of Duke's, slightly unkempt after a prolonged period of absence, but it's remote enough that Nathan feels a little anxious as he glances at the screen of his phone, unsurprised by the lack of a signal that he's getting.

"Got something important that needs doing," Duke explains, which explains nothing at all, really, but Nathan hasn't been able to understand Duke in years.

Nathan doesn't understand himself, either, considering he's out in the middle of nowhere with a man he doesn't entirely trust, following him inside the cabin with only a minute hesitation in his gait. It's dusty and a little gloomy, the mounted lamps on the walls casting a weak yellow light around the room before Duke flicks the switch for the overhead that glares down at them with a blue, sharp light. 

"You can put your jacket in there," Duke says, waving a hand towards the bedroom. "Won't be needing it."

Nathan doesn't question him, electing to shrug off his worries and his coat, wandering around the kitchen for something to drink. All he finds is expired juice in the fridge and a couple bottles of expensive wine in the cupboards, which Duke lays eyes on soon enough. He doesn't mention Nathan's snooping, or the fact that he doesn't usually like to share. Instead, Duke pours them both a glass, watching as Nathan drinks.

The moment he's done, Duke crowds him back against the counter, kissing Nathan savagely, pulling at his hair until Nathan's mouth opens on a moan, a sharp thrill going down his back.

"Might've had ulterior motives," he hears Duke chuckle, "In taking you here."

Nathan's hands tighten on Duke's hips. "Show me that bedroom?"

It's strange, the flicker of emotions that crosses Duke's face, something slightly unsettling in his eyes. His hand is tight around Nathan's wrist, nails digging in. "Come on, then. Got plans for you."

Nathan trails behind him, following Duke into the bedroom, staring at the covers and the headboard and the full-length mirror placed at the foot of it, something nagging at his instincts, telling him to turn around. Duke slips his arms around Nathan's waist, kissing him on the mouth, whispering "Take your clothes off and kneel," and Nathan sighs _yes_ before sinking down.

Duke tilts Nathan's jaw up until his head is tipped far enough back that he can see his own thighs splayed wide over Duke's hips, his knees anchored to the bed by a strange, anxious paralysis. He can see Duke's smile in the mirror and in any other light, it would've looked gentle. In this room, under cheap fluorescents, it looks predatory.

Nathan's breath catches in his throat. Duke folds his fingers into a fist. His hand, the whole of it, is wedged so deep Nathan squirms, the absence of sensation making the sight obscene and nerve-wracking. There is no pain. There is no pleasure, either, but still Nathan flinches and tries to get away, which only makes Duke laugh. 

"Easy," he soothes. "You move a half inch in the wrong direction, I might punch right through you, babe."

It makes him shudder, his skin too tight where Duke splits him open. He's working up to half his arm, riveting Nathan's focus. It's impossible and it's deranged and still he gives, watching in a daze as Duke sinks inside, pushing deeper in an even rhythm, Nathan's rim stretched dangerously thin around Duke's wrist. "It won't fit," Nathan moans pitifully. "Not any more. Please."

At this point in time, it's hard to know what he's asking for. He wants Duke to make it hurt, but he can't. He wants Duke to make it feel good, but he can't, which leaves Nathan to occupy his own body as a voyeur, something innately fetishistic in watching Duke spread him open wide around his fingers, his wrist, the narrow end of a bottle of wine. The senseless depravity of it makes Nathan sweat.

"I know," Duke assures him, his voice falsely tender. "You can take it. You were built for it."

Nathan blinks, his lashes feeling damp. It's not assault, not really; he would have to really try to struggle, for that. The door is wide open.

He doesn't know what he wants and Nathan is almost grateful for Duke not letting him make the choice, because Duke is good at deciding for him. "Please," he says again, his voice hoarse and breathless, wanting to know how far Duke can push before Nathan breaks irreversibly, with no hope of recovery. It's slightly sickening, how much he wants to be unmade.

The right set of hands are touching him, but the expression isn't quite right. It'll do, because the Duke he left in the rearview mirror back in Haven would never touch him this way, and Nathan feels only a little guilty about it, most of his thoughts muddled and drowning in a sea of not-sensation and mirrored images moving in front of him.

His mouth is kissed pink, swollen. The gag came off hours ago and his voice is still hoarse when he twists in Duke's grip and sinks a little lower, chasing the high of his own fucked-out expression and the shame that chases across his brow.

It didn’t take Nathan long to realize that instead of Duke, he was dealing with a Trouble, but Nathan took the Trouble to bed instead of to the station, his phone alight with messages from Audrey asking where he is. For once, he doesn’t care that he’s ignoring her, that he’s letting Haven down, that while he’s luxuriating in being trapped against Duke’s body, other people could be hurting, injured. He never wants to leave.

He wants. He's human. He thinks that might be his fatal flaw.

Nathan chokes on incredulous laughter when, after days of bruised wrists, bloody sheets and barely managing to cling on to his sanity, he spies a strip of condoms tucked between the clothes scattered across the armchair. Duke has done a lot to him, over immeasurable hours, but somehow the biggest slap to the face is Duke's smirk when he coos "Don't know where you've been, baby. A man's gotta be smart."

It makes Nathan burn, bristling at the slimy insinuation that he's _dirty,_ that after all that he's let Duke do to him, he still manages to bring Nathan lower. It gets to the point where he has to fight the humiliating urge to cry, tilting his chin all the way down to his chest and trembling, hearing Duke laughing all the while in that low timbre of his. It makes Nathan want to beat him bloody.

“Two days,” Nathan snarls, his hands tightening on Duke’s body, wherever he can gain purchase, trembling fingers curling over Duke’s bicep, clutching at his shoulder. “Two days, I’ve let you - but now, you draw the line?”

Truth is, Nathan wants it hard, dirty and fast. He wants something that’ll leave a mark he can’t get rid of, something that will greet him in the mirror, like a bruise to prove that he held something in his hands for a moment, at the very least. “Yeah,” Duke agrees, easy and smooth, his hand curving lightly around Nathan’s throat. In the mirror, it’s easy to tell when Duke is really trying to hurt him. “You know what you are, right? Hardly any love lost between us. I’m using you right back, Nathan.”

A mirthless smile stretches Nathan’s mouth. His face looks funny in the mirror, serene and wide-eyed, deeply off. “Using me,” Nathan agrees, letting Duke bend him over until he’s resting on his elbows, his hands folded together while Nathan’s cheek rests against the trembling crook of his arm. He has goosebumps. Maybe he’s been cold all along without feeling it.

Nathan blinks at the reflection, watching Duke’s arm flex, knowing with a horrific certainty that there are lines he’s crossing that he won’t be able to take back. “You’re not using me. Not yet. Not really. You’re playing games.”

“You don’t like my games?”

Nathan shivers, grits out a _"No,”_ between his teeth and watches, almost impassively, as Duke withdraws and pulls back, slick all the way to his fucking elbow when he reaches around the bed to grab the wine they’d managed to half-finish earlier. The narrow end is slick, too. Duke weighs it in his hand with a thoughtful smile on his face, his eyes dark. “Gonna make you regret pushing me,” he announces, cheerful and smug. “How about we try the other end?”

Nathan sees himself twitch. It won’t work, he thinks, because it absolutely won’t fit and if it does somehow, it’ll break, there will be shards of glass inside of him, but absent the pain, Nathan is almost curious about whether he _could_ , not pausing for long enough to consider whether he _should_. “You letting me say no?”

Since they arrived at this place, Duke has tied him up three times. He’s hit Nathan once or twice without provocation, without it being part of the game Nathan has built up in his head for months, which means he might not let Nathan escape his own destructive impulses, no matter how much he begs. Sometimes, Nathan thinks he must be wired wrong; wanting someone to dismantle him until there’s nothing left but his bones is a wild, reckless fantasy. It was always meant to be a fantasy.

He meets Duke’s eyes in the mirror, seeing his expression gone flat and cold. “I know what you want,” Duke snaps. “Quiet, now. Let me work. Try not to move too much, or…”

The bottle will shatter, under its own weight or under Duke’s deliberate ministrations. Nathan shifts on the sheets, staring down at the ugly floral pattern, wanting, all of a sudden, to be _home_ , to sleep in a familiar bed where the walls don’t feel suffocating around him. He wants to cry. The terror overwhelms him, rolling in hard and fast and leaving Nathan with the sensation of falling off a cliff overtaking him, but then Duke is behind him, gently adjusting Nathan’s shivering limbs, the bottle disappearing in the shadows between his legs.

Nathan breathes and thinks about home, about the other Duke, the one that will never, ever want him, finding his own reflection in the mirror, staring into his own eyes, watching his face, expression pale and disgusted.

Duke has big hands with slender palms and long fingers. He has calluses across his thumb and forefinger, little scars on his knuckles that Nathan can see briefly in the flickering candlelight on the bedside table, because after having his hand inside Nathan for hours on end, Duke had grinned and told him he’d make it up to him.

Scented candles. That’s what Duke has brought for him, as if Nathan cares, as if it isn’t another parody of what he really wants, but the scent of vanilla and cinnamon drifts towards him while Nathan stares considerately down at Duke’s big hands and slim fingers, seeing them wrapped around his throat in a loving embrace.

He wonders briefly if this is it, if Duke is done with him, if he’s going to squeeze until there’s no air left in Nathan’s lungs, but he’s still inside, hot and hard and relentless, fucking Nathan languidly while his fingers flex around tender skin. “Maybe we should get you a collar,” he muses, staring at his handiwork, at the bruises painting Nathan blue and green. “Make it official.”

“Make w’ official?”

His tongue is thick in his mouth, thick behind his chattering teeth. All of Nathan is trembling, trussed up without the luxury of moving his limbs, muscles locked and twitching as Duke runs a hand down his back, towards his ass. His hands would be warm if Nathan could feel them, he thinks, his head spinning.

Duke’s thumb finds the hollow of his throat and presses gently, gently, until Nathan’s vision goes fuzzy at the corners. Something about the position of his arms makes it difficult to hold his head up, shoulders pulled back too far to allow Nathan’s muscles to relax, sweat beading on his brow with every second that passes. Duke is pulling back slowly, hands resting on Nathan’s chest, laughing softly when Nathan sucks in a gulping breath punctuated with relief.

“Yeah, a collar sounds good,” Duke chuckles. “Want to show everyone you’re mine, right? Want to show ‘em who’s feet you like sitting at, right?”

“No. Not yours.”

The wax hits Nathan’s chest slowly, Duke’s hand carefully tipping the candle at an angle, drops falling from his throat to his groin, to the vulnerable skin between hip and thigh. If it burns, Nathan won’t know about it until tomorrow, staring at the wax cooling on his stomach. “Alright, Nathan,” Duke sighs. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me. You made me, remember? I’m here because you wanted it, because _you_ wanted me to put you here. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Nathan manages to smile. “Again,” he murmurs. “Put your hand on my throat again.”

Duke’s eyes are bright and a little sad. “Sometimes,” he says, hand at Nathan’s jaw, “I wonder what’s wrong with you. Sweet, fucked up Nathan Wuornos. What am I gonna do with you?”

“Whatever you want,” Nathan manages as Duke’s hand starts to tighten, getting Nathan’s pulse racing as the two of them descend deeper into the madness.

There’s dry blood flaking off his thighs. A few stains made it onto the sheets and comforter, but Nathan figures that the damage can’t be that bad, all things considered, since he’s up and moving with only a minor stiffness to be seen in his gait. Duke hand-feeds him orange slices and dry toast, then hauls Nathan back into bed, onto his cock, onto the goddamn wine bottle and once, when Duke gets curious, he hauls Nathan onto a candlestick with rounded edges that ends the day covered in a thin sheen of blood.

Nathan hates him. Hates himself. He kisses Duke anyway, letting himself be pinned, watching as the sun sinks slowly around them, casting orange shadows into the room, making a cocoon for Nathan to drift in. He sleeps on and off, waking to himself arranged differently, something new around his wrists, or in his mouth, or pushing inside of him with delicate thrusts, staring vacantly up at the ceiling until Duke brings him out of it with gentle hands on Nathan’s cheeks.

“Hey, lover,” he murmurs on the last day, after he’s helped Nathan to the kitchen for breakfast. His legs are wobbly, won’t hold his weight, but Duke guides him in and out of bed easily, like Nathan might not be entirely corporeal. “Not much time left. Wanna go out with a bang?”

Nathan looks up at him and musters a smile, tracing the corners of Duke’s mouth with his thumbs. “Give me your worst,” Nathan whispers, burying his face in Duke’s shoulder, resisting the attempt Duke makes at rolling him over on his stomach. “No, like this. I want to look at you.”

Why Duke allows it, Nathan has no clue. Maybe there’s still some tiny measure of control left for Nathan in this fantasy, because Duke nods, shoving Nathan’s legs high up on his shoulders, not going for the condoms when he slides home, watching Nathan’s face open up and break apart into tight exhales and, humiliatingly, the first signs of a panic attack.

Outside, on the porch, Nathan thinks he might spy headlights flashing at the very edge of the woods. The curtains are drawn, but there’s a sliver of flickering light making its way through, which means they’re about to be found. Even then, he can’t look away from Duke; Nathan stares up at him and clings, his voice thin as short little moans are pulled from his throat in protest of Duke’s hand leaving his chest.

There’s a gun tucked beneath the pillow. His gun, Nathan realizes, heart practically stopping in his chest when Duke grabs it in a practiced hand, placing it beside them, breathing harshly while footsteps distantly run up the front steps, towards the porch, two pairs of fists banging on the door and muffled voices shouting at them. “One for the road,” Duke groans, grinning all the while. “I was real to you, wasn’t I? Real enough?”

“Plenty real,” Nathan croaks. “Don’t go. Please.”

Duke is shaking his head, speeding up his thrusts. Nathan is surprised when he comes before Duke does, his head spinning. “Gotta go sometime, sweetheart,” Duke sighs and with uncharacteristic gentleness, he pulls the comforter higher, covering Nathan from the invasion of other prying eyes. Nathan hears the unmistakable sound of wood splintering and then something thudding and rolling across the floor outside. Duke kisses him, hard and affectionate, a dark glint in his eyes when he leans back, the gun glinting softly in his grip, fingers flexing around polished metal. 

“You were a wild ride, Nathan. Let’s not do this again, huh?”

There’s blood on the sheets again. Duke roughly hoists Nathan upright and into a one-armed embrace, both of them quiet while they listen to Audrey shouting for someone to open the goddamn door, rattling the doorknob while glass breaks in the kitchen. “Goodbye, Nathan,” Duke chuckles, his voice warm in Nathan’s ear. He blinks and the world is suddenly off-kilter and sharp, something exploding in the room and very close to his face. There’s something in his eye that he has to blink clear, jostled by Duke’s body falling heavy on top of his own and when Nathan glances down he realizes he’s lying down and Duke, this other Duke is missing the back of his head, a hole in his skull, eyes dull - but he’s still smiling.

It takes a moment of absolute stillness before the horror hits him and when Nathan finally screams in terrified realization, that’s the moment that Audrey bursts inside, disheveled and frantic, finding Nathan pinned beneath a perfect copy of Duke Crocker, his pale face splattered with blood and brain matter.

After that, after the body is rolled off of him, it starts to get hazy. Nathan finds himself drifting and doesn’t say a damn thing when Audrey asks, over and over again, _are you alright._

Later, at the hospital while he’s seated on a bed dressed in an ugly thin gown, Audrey stays impassive while Nathan bluntly says no to a rape kit.

He's bruised and he’s bleeding. He knows that much, but the rest doesn't need to be said. Nathan knows it must have gone too far, based on Audrey's pinched expression, but he doesn't want to know the specifics because the knowing would reignite the guilt and he's had about enough of hating himself for today. He’s too tired to manage it. "I know it doesn't hurt," Audrey says, as if she’s choosing her words very carefully, like she’s speaking to a spooked animal or a scared child, "But you could be injured. Do you want to kick the bucket from a very preventable infection down the line, or do you want to suck it up and let the nurse examine you?"

Audrey is familiar and gentle in a way Nathan isn’t used to. She’s using that voice she uses with the Troubled that are in over their heads and losing control, but Nathan is nodding, now. Going along with it seems easier than trying to keep fighting and drawing more attention to himself when all he wants is to disappear. He's sitting stiffly and picking at a loose thread in the gown, not meeting Audrey's eyes when she sighs, broadcasting her intent while she’s stepping between his knees to hug him. It startles him, realizing he's been needing it.

"You don't want that, right? You're not that stupid."

"Maybe I am," Nathan murmurs before closing his eyes, enjoying Audrey's hand in his hair. With her body pressed almost flush against Nathan’s, it brings to life a lot of little hurts, down to the cramp in his foot from the walk after so long spent on his back, and his trembling groan seems to remind Audrey to pull back in a jerk, Nathan watching while she realizes she's acting as a conduit for Nathan to experience all the strain of the past three days. He doesn’t mind. It feels like penance, the reminder of pain.

"You're not," she insists, her voice tired. "Please don't want that."

Nathan can't bring himself to look at Audrey, but that's nothing compared to dealing with Duke.

He leaves the hospital early in the morning after enduring an exam and a few stitches and a sympathetic, unbearable speech from one of the psychologists on call, her eyes dark and serious when Nathan begged her to keep his name out of the reports as much as possible. He’s had enough of the smell of the hospital, of gloved hands gently maneuvering his thighs open, and Nathan is so fucking sick of the sympathy from the staff that if he never steps foot in the hospital again, it’ll be too fucking soon.

After Audrey finally agrees to give him the short version of events which boiled down to a wish Trouble having gone sour, turning people's greatest wishes into nightmares, Nathan feels somehow hollow and tired and embarrassed, wondering how much Duke knows.

It would never be the same if he figured it out, that it was Nathan's wish backfiring that left him split open on a copy's cock for hours on end, his body jarred and bent and shoved into impossible shapes, stretched too wide and for too long. He made that happen. Nathan has nobody to blame but himself.

He was sequestered away by the wrong Duke, experiencing the wrong kind of hurt but the copy had been close enough to the real deal for Nathan to refuse Audrey's claims of rape. At the end of the day he consented in every way that matters, at least on an official report. Technically, there's no one to charge and ideally, Nathan would like for the whole thing to go away without anyone else finding out about it, especially Duke, who he thinks would punch him if he found out.

He's never going to look at Nathan the same way, and the thought of losing what little common ground they'd managed to scrape together with Audrey acting as the tether between them makes Nathan run cold all over, his skin tight around his bruised wrists, a shudder running up his spine.

He doesn't want to lose the camaraderie they’d painstakingly built, but he made his bed. He's got to learn to lie in it, now.

A couple of bouquets of flowers get delivered to Nathan’s house. Someone drops off a casserole and it leaves Nathan feeling oddly close to hysterical laughter, wondering why he’s being treated as if he’s throwing his own funeral.

Duke doesn’t send flowers and he doesn’t bring a casserole. Duke does what Duke does best by pretending everything is alright, as if he doesn’t have a clue why Nathan came back from his three-day trial at the cabin with a haunted look on his face. Nathan doesn’t offer an explanation either, which is easy to do when Duke doesn’t come anywhere near him for a week. It’s a mutual avoidance, at the beginning, until Nathan starts to realize that if he and Duke don’t talk soon, the two of them might never talk again and despite all the bad blood between them, that idea is unbearable.

Audrey urges him to man up and bite the bullet. “I don’t know what to say,” Nathan chokes out, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t know how much _he_ knows.”

Nathan knows Audrey wouldn’t tell Duke, but she wasn’t the only person at the cabin. She’s not the only person who knows just how deeply damaged Nathan Wuornos is.

“I know it’s scary,” Audrey promises, taking care to be gentle when she runs her thumb along Nathan’s knuckles, “But avoiding him won’t make it any less terrifying. You don’t owe him an explanation, but maybe it would do you both some good to sort this out.”

“Audrey,” Nathan sighs in exasperation, “How would _you_ react if this was - if it was you? If I dreamed up a version of you that-?”

Her mouth thins, eyes going dark. “I’d be pissed,” Audrey admits, “Worried about you, mostly. Scared for you.”

“Disgusted?”

“Not even close,” Audrey scoffs. She takes Nathan’s hand properly in her own. “You listen to me now, alright? I am your friend and your partner and if that _thing_ hadn’t pulled the trigger before I got in that room, I would have killed it. I would have, Nathan, for everything it did to you.”

His mouth twitches into a weak smile. “I was asking for it,” Nathan murmurs, shaking his head, staring vacantly down at his paperwork. “How could he ever look at me again? How could _you_?”

Audrey sighs “Easily, Nathan,” and squeezes his hand, “You’re my friend and I care about you. Bet you Duke does, too. You want to get one over on him,” Audrey coaxes, “Be the adult, throw it in his face someday that _you_ were the mature one?”

She’s teasing him, smiling a little. The thing is, it does the trick. Nathan finds himself boarding the Rouge almost without realizing he’s gone through the motions - leaving the station, getting in his car, pulling up to park and walking the twenty yards to the familiar hull greeting him as Nathan debates whether to go through with it or not. Before he can think about it too much, he’s already making his way aboard.

Duke has the radio going. It’s no wonder he doesn’t hear Nathan coming up behind him with Metallica blaring loud enough for the entire harbor to hear, but Duke does notice when Nathan croaks out a tentative “Hey,” because Duke whirls, wrench in one hand and rag in the other, staring at Nathan as if Duke wasn’t expecting to see him. “Got a minute?”

It’s no easy thing to stand there and see the judgement written on Duke’s face. His expression is all guilt and suspicion, tangled up with a healthy dose of skepticism, but Duke nods after a moment and sets down his tools, settling down on an overturned crate, gesturing for Nathan to sit if he wants to. He doesn’t think that’s a good idea. It might give Nathan some hope of staying.

“Been a while,” Duke comments, all casual and easy. “What can I do for you, officer?”

It’s almost comforting, the way Duke won’t use his name like the _other_ Duke did. “I don’t want to,” Nathan starts, hanging his head low, barely able to look at Duke, “I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“Little too late for that,” Duke mutters, shooting Nathan an embarrassed smile. “You know, all things considered.”

“So you know?”

Duke grimaces, tinkering with some spare part or another, the deck littered with circuit boards and metal pieces Nathan can’t make sense of. “Yeah,” Duke agrees, his voice solemn. “Plenty of breadcrumbs to follow. I figured it out.”

Nathan can’t feel anything, but there’s a phantom sensation of a lump in his throat, reminding him of all those years he spent crying as a kid, reminding him that he _should_ be ashamed after everything he’s done. “I didn’t know,” Nathan offers, “Not at first. I thought - I thought it was you.”

Duke’s eyes narrow. “That doesn’t really make me feel better,” he tells Nathan, “What, is that a compliment? You thought it was _me_ torturing you, so it’s alright?”

“It wasn’t torture,” Nathan snaps, glaring right back at Duke. “It was just sex.”

Shaking his head, Duke sighs “That doesn’t make it better either, Nathan,” and when he goes quiet, searching for the right words, Nathan wonders if there’s _anything_ that could make this better. Apparently not, judging by what Duke says next. “I know we don’t always get along, but that? _That_ isn’t me. That’s never going to be me. I don’t even know how to look at you,” Duke confesses, “Without feeling bad. For both of us.”

Nathan nods, listening to the seagulls squawking, listening to the waves roll in. “I don’t know how to apologize,” he tells Duke, “It wasn’t meant to go like that.”

It piques Duke’s interest. He glances at Nathan, shoulders shifting beneath his henley, Duke’s smile stretching fragile and hopeful across his face. “Thanks,” he huffs, pulling cables and wires across his lap, “I mean, it’s not like it _was_ me. Feels weird, you apologizing. Kind of feels like I should be apologizing to you.”

“Why?”

“Because every time you look at me,” Duke groans, “You’re gonna think of _that_. That’s not what I want.”

Conversationally, Duke asks “Why’d you think it was me? Why’d you want it to be?”

He knows the answer. Duke’s a bastard but he’s not stupid and Nathan sucks in a sharp breath, giving Duke his back, muttering “I remember you. You know that.”

It gives Duke pause. It takes a minute for him to gather his wits and respond. “Did you want me,” Duke asks, measuring his words carefully, “Or did you want someone to hurt you? Someone who was willing?”

“You,” Nathan grits out, wondering how much longer Duke is going to make Nathan humiliate himself with uncomfortable truths. “Jesus, Duke. How could you ask me that?”

Duke’s laughter rings out in a hollow echo. It’s quiet while Duke contemplates where to go from there and Nathan is considering just leaving, already, by the time Duke poses another question, quietly asking “Was he that convincing?”

Nathan wonders about that, too, whether the copy was a perfect imitation, or whether Nathan was so starved for attention, for touch, that he went along with someone - something - that wasn’t real, that didn’t care about him. It makes him feel faintly nauseous, now that he’s a few days removed from the situation. Nathan can’t process some of the things he allowed to happen.

“No,” he tells Duke. “I just thought…”

“Thought what?”

"I thought," Nathan manages, pushing past the embarrassment to get at the answers he's been needing since Tuesday. "I thought you wanted me. That maybe you still did.”

Duke's face is pinched in frustration when Nathan finally gathers enough courage to look at him properly, seeing Duke’s hands restlessly plucking at loose wires, smack dab in the middle of his endless collection of spare parts. "I might," Duke mumbles reluctantly, like he's giving away too much with those two little words. "Not...not like this, though. Not after-"

He cuts himself off, glancing at Nathan. "Well, you'd know. The other me."

What Nathan hears is the same old protest, which is that after everything, he’s too damaged. 

Duke doesn't want him after he landed himself in bed with a version of Duke that happily tore him apart, inside and out, but Nathan still flinches from the rejection, wondering if maybe he's always going to be too _wrong_ for Duke to ever want.

"No, what's that look for? Nathan."

He doesn't want to stay on the boat anymore, but Duke sighs and moves to stand, holding his hands out in a gesture that's both placating and pleading. "Not what I meant, alright? Just, how the hell am I supposed to know what you want? You're telling Audrey it wasn't assault, fine. Means you wanted it, then, and I'm not into that...hooks and chains and blood, you hear me? Won't do it. Can't. Not to you."

Nathan’s tongue is thick in his mouth, his throat dry. He makes the words come even while he's inching closer and closer towards the urge to flee, to end this conversation before they go any deeper down the rabbit hole.

"All the wishes that got twisted," he mutters. "It's not easy. Explaining it. Half of me wanted to run, the other half was...happy. Happy enough. Thought that was the only way I'd ever get to have…"

He refuses to look away when Duke's eyebrows jump in surprise, seeing the tentative flicker of interest reigniting. "Still," Duke groans, putting his face in his hands, "Jesus, Nathan. I know enough to know you _cannot_ possibly be entirely, one hundred percent fine after being trussed up and beat up for days. At the very fucking least," Duke says, voice very firm, "It was rape by deception, you know? You thought it was me. That's one thing. But I keep thinking about how you're looking at me like you're expecting me to hurt you, and that makes my fucking stomach turn."

He's a little breathless, now, half yelling at Nathan, emphasising every word like it matters that much to him, the part where he needs Nathan to understand. There hasn’t been understanding between them for a long, long time now.

"I want you. Can't lie about that. But I want you whole, man, and I don't think I'm gonna be any good for you right now. And," Duke adds, cringing, "I get that it might seem like I'm trying to make decisions for you and telling you what you need, but it's about what I need, too. I gotta process. I gotta learn how to be around you, now."

Duke flops back into his seat after he runs out of steam, looking out at the water after his tirade has finished. Nathan hasn't moved an inch during the speech, having to force his shoulders to relax, but his mouth is twitching into the shadow of a smile. He doesn't know if it'll convince Duke, but for the first time in a while, Nathan is starting to feel like maybe it'll be okay. Like maybe despite everything, things don’t have to be tense between him and Duke, anymore.

"Alright," he agrees, because this time around, he has to remember to count his blessings. "Learn again. Tell me what you figure out, I guess.”

There's an undertone of pleading in his voice, but Duke offers him a nervous smile filled with surprise and relief and apprehension, every inch of him tense, trying to soothe Nathan’s old hurts. "You can count on it. You, uh. Take care, Nathan. Really."

Dwight must have heard about what happened, by now. There’s no other reason for the long face he’s wearing when Nathan walks up and hops into the truck, the long line of Dwight’s body gone tense and unhappy, his eyes checking Nathan over to catalogue the damage.

Nathan has no idea how much Dwight knows, but he’s uncomfortable under the scrutiny, his words clipped and cold when he sighs “Can we not do this today?”

He feels crazy. He’s been feeling crazy for a while, now, despite the endless reassurance from everyone around him that he’s learning to cope and that healing is a process and Nathan appreciates it, deep down, but he can’t take another second of pity, especially not from someone like Dwight. Not when they’re on this strange, uneven footing where he’s looking at Nathan like he’s a victim, as if he didn’t do this to himself, at least.

“Sure,” Dwight agrees, turning the key in the ignition, fixing his eyes on the road ahead of them, pulling out of the parking lot. “I’m asking once, though. Do you need anything?”

Nathan blinks, unprepared for something that simple and straight-forward. Everyone else seems to hover around him, walking on eggshells, careful not to handle him too roughly. Dwight, on the other hand, for all that he’s endlessly patient, doesn’t seem to want to linger on the uncomfortable aftermath of last week’s Trouble any more than Nathan does. It’s a breath of fresh air.

They might not be friends, exactly, but Nathan can trust Dwight with this. “Yeah,” he manages to get out, remarkably composed for how ill he feels, only half joking when he says “The cabin. Where I...was. Burn it.”

Dwight nods once as he turns onto a dirt road, muttering “Ashes before tomorrow morning. Consider that a guarantee,” and Nathan laughs harder than he remembers being capable of, something loosening in his chest.

Nathan doesn’t have a relationship with his body. Not a healthy one, at any rate.

The bruises have started to fade from livid purple to muted green, but Nathan mourns the loss of the fingerprints branded across his hips and thighs, the shapes of Duke’s hands vanishing from his body like he was never there at all - and he wasn’t, no, not strictly speaking, but Nathan cherished the discoloration, all the same.

He decides to watch porn, one night, on a website that he’s visited before. It’s dark in the room. In the search bar, Nathan hesitates, getting as far as the first two letters before the suggestions start to pop up, a shiver working up his spine when he clicks onto the first video that features a body he can almost imagine is Duke’s, tan and lean and tall.

The other man is pale and scrawny and crying. His face goes through an emotion Nathan struggles to identify until he sees his own harried expression reflected in the screen; pain and terror and distress all at once. If he’s acting, he’s good. If not -

Nathan exits the browser in a panicked flurry of emotions, breathing deeply, putting a hand over his mouth to muffle the little noises he’s making. “Fuck,” he breathes, staring down at his knees, wondering, not for the first time, if maybe he got the facts mixed up after Audrey came to get him. She called it a rescue; it means he had to have been rescued from something.

“Jesus. _Fuck."_

He recognized the expression in the video, intimately familiar with seeing it in the mirror at the cabin, and at the same time that something breaks inside of him, he finally manages to breathe.

At the end of the day, Nathan comes to a conclusion. He can’t have Duke. He never could.

It eats at him for a while, coming to terms with it. Nathan should be grateful to have Duke in his life at _all_ after what went down, but it’s almost cruel, the way he got a taste of that _maybe_ with Duke’s body against his own, letting himself believe he was wanted, for once. It’s been a week since he and Duke last spoke in any capacity bigger than a casual good morning and Nathan’s driving himself a little crazy, lingering on maybes.

Duke was being kind, letting Nathan down gently. It’s more than he owes Nathan. Duke doesn’t owe Nathan anything at all, really.

Still, it’s hard to stay away. Nathan refuses to let Audrey help him, not able to talk about the pit in his stomach that still makes him feel nauseous at the worst of times, but Audrey is good at reading his moods and she’s good at talking Nathan down from them, keeping him plenty occupied and distracted while his body heals from the trauma.

His mind is a different beast entirely. “Maybe,” Nathan tells her at the kind suggestion of _maybe you should see a professional,_ “I’ll think about it. Really,” he promises, weighing the pros and cons of letting someone root around in his head and drag all of his neuroses and every last shameful memory out in front of him. “Couldn’t hurt, right?”

“No,” Audrey agrees, smiling wider than ever, “It really couldn’t.”

She takes him to the Gull later that night, ordering beer for them both, insisting on paying with a bright spark in her eye that Nathan can’t say no to. Audrey’s trying to take care of him without overstepping and Nathan sits back and lets it happen, determined not to get in the way of his own happiness, just this once. There’s a crowd hanging around the bar, people sitting outside and smoking under the heat lamps and Nathan wonders if Audrey chose this booth specifically because it was removed from the masses.

Her furtive glance around the room confirms it. “Thanks,” Nathan murmurs, taking the Heineken she offers, the two of them settling into case talk, laughing between themselves as the night grows darker and warmer around them. Audrey excuses herself to the bathroom eventually, leaving Nathan to cope on his own.

A familiar pair of hands pluck the empty bottles from the table. “Hey,” Duke greets him, standing so close to Nathan that it almost, almost startles him. “You two celebrating?”

“Commiserating,” Nathan corrects him, “We’re slaves to paperwork, lately.”

Duke hums, sliding into the booth across from Nathan. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, “About when we talked, about what you said. About what I _didn't_ say.”

“Oh,” Nathan breathes, “No, Duke, it’s - it’s fine. It is what it is.”

“But it’s not,” Duke pushes, leaning back and getting a good look at Nathan. “You told me to let you know, right? Well, I’m letting you know. I’m here now.”

Nathan is dumbfounded, staring at Duke as it slowly dawns on him that this, this is real - this is the real Duke Crocker sitting on the other side of the booth, telling Nathan that he’s ready, that he wants something neither of them have ever really dared to talk about. “I’m not alright,” Nathan says, hating himself for the confession, knowing it could end this before it’s ever begun at all, “I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t want to pretend.”

“Nobody’s alright, Nathan,” Duke tells him, “Me and you, that’s...that’s a whole different level of complicated, I know that. But why not try? We used to have fun, didn’t we? Used to laugh a lot, you and me.”

Nathan’s mouth curves with a smile he can’t quite contain. “We used to,” he agrees, “I don’t think it can be like that again. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Hope’s all a man’s got,” Duke grins, the laughter fading from his voice when he asks “Do you want to try? I can’t do this if you think you owe me something.”

“I don’t,” Nathan rushes to say, “I don’t think I owe you something. I want to try. I’m terrified, but…”

Duke nods in understanding, slowly getting to his feet, rocking back on his heels. “So we’ll try again,” he decides, “Start small. Jesus,” Duke laughs, “I can’t believe this is really happening, you know?”

After a beat, he adds “I gotta get back to work, but I’m not backing out. Alright? So...you call me sometime, Nathan. I’ll have you over for pot roast or something. Do it properly.”

Nathan can’t quite hide the quiver in his voice when he breathlessly agrees, “We’ll do it properly,” and when Duke places a gentle hand on his shoulder, Nathan leans into it, grateful for the lifeline he’s been offered. It’s a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

By the time Audrey comes back, Duke’s back behind the bar, shooting Nathan these incredulous little smiles that Nathan mirrors right back at him. Audrey sits down and gets one look at his face, whipping her head around to catch Duke in the act, her own smile blooming quickly. “That’s the face I wanted to see,” Audrey laughs, “The happy one. Been a while since I last saw it.”

Happy. Nathan’s wondered about happiness, about whether it was meant for him. “I am,” he tells Audrey, ducking his head with a bright, warm smile, “I really am happy.”

“Good,” Audrey declares, “Because you deserve it, Nathan,” and for the first time in a long time, Nathan believes, whole-heartedly, that he does.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, please leave me a comment letting me know what you thought! ❤


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